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He shrugged and commented on the piece, “Well, the poet’s hand is young.”
    Tomoe’s growing irritation became harder to contain. She said, “You have the mind of a young girl! Tend to the Way, ronin, and perhaps your lot will be better in the future.”
    Ich ’yama winced. “Everytime you speak, it stings!” he complained. “What is wrong with the mind of a young girl? Have you never had a mind like that? Do you believe in the kind of love called ‘Tana-bata Enlightenment’? It means ‘love at first sight.’”
    â€œI know what it means.”
    â€œI’m glad!” said Ich ’yama. “You look down on me because I’m without a master. What if my fortune were better? Would you still sneer?”
    â€œMine is the Way of the Warrior, ronin! If you cannot attend to business today, then I will search Isso alone!”
    Ich ’yama was distracted and did not hear Tomoe’s criticism. “Look!” he said. “A puppet show!” There were puppeteers “hiding” under black veils, holding puppets in front of themselves and performing a whimsical play in the middle of the street. Children and adults had gathered around. It was the story of the conquering Empress Jingo who, in the play, had recently returned from the Mainland a widow. Thirty-seven princes came to her in turn, asking for her favor, and each time she said:
    â€œMy soul is serene
    It dwells in another heaven
    Here, cranes perch on branches of plum
    No man may come.”
    Historically speaking, Jingo never did remarry, but ruled Naipon for many years by herself. Ich ’yama looked from the beautifully crafted puppet depicting the ancient amazon, and then he looked at Tomoe. The look on his face did not evade her. She turned and walked away, not caring if he followed, but he did. The uncouth behavior of ronin always appalled Tomoe. She reproached him severely,
    â€œGo bathe, ronin! I will not walk with you until you do.” Ich ’yama stopped in the middle of the street and let her go on by herself. For a moment he looked sad, but then he beamed and shouted,
    â€œHappy Tana-bata, Tomoe!” He looked at everyone in the street and called to all, “Happy Tana-bata!” Then he went running through the crowd toward a public bath.
    On her own, Tomoe investigated one of the grimmer districts of Isso. Gamblers and wanderers staggered from saké den to den. Cutthroats conspired in corners. Geishas were obscene in bright of day. Thieves patrolled the alleys. Crippled children begged—some, perhaps, crippled by their parents for precisely this occupation.
    She lingered in low places, tasting stale noodles and soured sauces as an excuse to sit and overhear abominable dialogues. She heard nothing regarding the fifty men.
    The ten faces shown to her by the ghost of Okio were always fresh in her mind; but she saw no one to fit these descriptions. Sometimes faces were shadowed with straw hats large as the one she wore herself. It made spying out identities difficult.
    As the day progressed, she began to wonder if Ich ’yama would ever catch up to her. She rather hoped he wouldn’t. With his large mouth and doubtful intentions, he was too great a nuisance.
    A tinkling of bells caught her attention. As custom dictated, the fortuneteller wore tiny bells around the rim of her hat, heralding her presence and profession everywhere she went. It made her rather too conspicuous as a shadow. This was the third time Tomoe had heard the ringing.
    Tomoe moved quickly aside and hid between two buildings. The fortuneteller passed the place without detecting the samurai. As the belled woman walked by on bare feet, she leaned heavily on a staff because she was lame in one leg. She wore a red kimono with a representation of Oh-kuni-nushi, God of Occultists, embroidered on the back.

    After the woman passed the place where the samurai hid, Tomoe stepped out from